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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Relentless Day 3 RP Board 2021
The Alias Saga #3: Me 4
Author Message
ALIAS Offline
Space Jesus



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
09-17-2021, 08:53 AM



                                                                                                                              

























































3A: Honesty

“Hi Lou.

In the wake of the honesty and transparency that you offered me, I hope you’d agree that I have returned the favour. I’d like to think that I do my best to make sure that I always offer a certain level of my truthiness - for whatever that’s worth - in all of these little, dare I call them, diatribes of mine. But by the same token, I do like peppering in a few fab faux tales too. Most of the time, those ones really just centre around how much anger, ire, or rage I hold towards whomever finds themselves in my path that week. As examples, I don’t hate Chris Chaos, I don’t hate Atara Themis, I don’t hate Chris Page, and I don’t even hate you, Lou. Will I defy you? You’re goddamn right. Will I resist? Until my dying fucking breath - however near or far that may be. Will I keep swinging at any and every threat to my own existence, whatever that may look like?

You know the answer.

But that doesn’t mean I hate the face that takes the beating. Or hate the jaw-stretching choke, coupled with a seizing nerve hold, as the case has been for you and some of the others. Hate or not, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will continue.

‘Continue what?’ you may ask?

The sentence finished exactly where it was supposed to.

To continue the honesty, Lou, I freely acknowledge that everything I say, everything I do, has been steadfastly fixed upon myself. I’ve skirted around that idea along the way, briefly giving it a little wink-wink-nudge-nudge here and there, but since I’ve been saying that I’m open to all your poking and prodding, I may as well get cozy in the fucking bed I’ve made. So here are the facts that support my selfishness:

I wasn’t there when Corey Smith got put on the shelf by Thaddeus Duke.

I wasn’t there for Dolly Waters while she was stuck in that Freaky Friday situation with Michael Graves.

I wasn’t there, and shit, still haven’t been there, for Betsy Granger throughout her fight with Bobby Bourbon and the rest of B.O.B.

I mean, shit, I’d like to think that Centurion and the North Korean War Criminal are at least acquaintances by now, but have I been there for Andy’s fight against the… heh, God of Death? That seems tailor-made for me, right? But I haven’t lifted a finger. And if NK - I hope he’ll be cool with me using that while Corey’s recovering - is working alongside Mark Flynn in conflict with Thad, well that sounds like it has me all over it too, doesn’t it?

I haven’t been there for any of them.

Now I can try to justify all of that. For some of them, Betsy and NK in particular, they simply haven’t asked. I could offer that excuse - and that’s what it is - as it relates to Dolly too. I didn’t help because she didn’t come to me in her hour of need. I suppose her choice says a lot about me actually, which is something for me to ponder on. Makes a lot of sense on its base level though. As far as Corey goes… well, I had actually promised that I’d be there that night. But that was one of those tales. A little fib, just to tease Chris Page a bit. If it weren’t for my hubris, then maybe I could’ve stopped it. ‘I called it’, didn’t I? I fucking knew what that little bitch was like, yet still I didn’t make the defensive move. Because I was focused on myself. And Andy… well, he and I aren’t exactly going camping again anytime soon.

Way to ignore me on Twitter, pal!

I’m saying all of this, Lou, to illustrate something that you pointed out however many months ago. I’m a pretty bad guy. No respect; disregard to others’ safety; objection to authority; no knowledge of any kind of fire codes. Sound familiar? Yeah… I’m such a bad guy. It takes one to know one, I guess.

So what’s the deal? Do you think I don’t fucking know this? Did you think I didn’t? Look, I’ll take up arms if I’m asked, but I strongly respect individual choices and have shown that myself through never asking for help with my own battles. But it’s fine. I know I’m a tad delusional so if that makes me a bad guy… well, I never claimed anything to the contrary. In fact, it was you who seemed to be paying lip-service to the drumming of my budding reputation. Through that, it was you who seemed to imply that by the raucous reception that I began to garner, that somehow defaulted me to the position of hero.

I said ‘imply’. I could be wrong.

I get it. You almost always find yourself labelled as the villain, and it’s heroes who fight villains, so it made sense to assume that I was the same as all the others. You know better now. You made a mistake. You thought I was just a passing fad. Shit, you even compared me to Charlie Nickles. What are you over him, 2 and 0?

Do we count War Games when we compare you and I?

Yeah, you know the fucking score. So full of compliments; so full of praise… in your own special way, that is.

Honesty.

That was a common thread last time, wasn’t it? Cast your mind back, bud. Assuming, that is, that you haven’t blocked the misery of the king in his shining armour out by now.

Honesty.

I know better now too, Lou. I know that the stakes have changed.

For You.







3B: XX_Progress Notes_210917

Patient Progress Notes
Date: 09/17/21Therapist: Facility:
Patient: Age: ◻ Female ☑ Male
Session length: ______☑ No Session: Consultation with senior clinician.
Treatment Issue: Patient currently sectioned. Resistance to treatment.
Symptoms observed during session:
◻ aggression (physical)
☑ aggression (verbal)
☑ agitation
☑ anger
◻ anhedonia
◻ anxiety/fear
◻ appetite disturbance
☑ danger to others
◻ danger to self
◻ decreased energy/fatigue
◻ delusions
◻ depressed
◻ distractibility
◻ emotional lability
◻ feelings of worthlessness
◻ hallucinations (auditory)
◻ hallucinations (visual)
◻ hopelessness/ helplessness
◻ impulsivity
☑ irritability
◻ negative statements
☑ noncompliance (medical care)
☑ restlessness
☑ sad/pained/ worried expression
◻ self deprecation
◻ sleep disturbance
☑ socially inappropriate
◻ social withdrawal
◻ suicidal ideation or plan
◻ thought disorder
◻ other:
◻ other:
Diagnoses: Undetermined
Intervention strategies implemented and session focus or theme: Discussed treatment approach. Senior clinician advised poor initial response to treatment is to be expected. Continue ad hoc approach.
Patient Response:◻ Marked improvement
◻ Some improvement
☑ Same functioning
◻ Symptoms worsening
Evidence of patient response: No intervention since prior progress note.
Future treatment/Follow-up: Ad hoc approach utilised by consultant KK to be continued. Patient-led approach required.
Signature of therapist/title:






3C: A Serious House on Serious Earth

Through the door there are many more. Around their frames, water stains the off-white walls of the hallway, damp streaks drooping down towards the vomit-green linoleum full of scuffs and scratches. An exposed fluorescent tube buzzes and blinks above, doing what fluorescent lighting does. As we all know, maintenance is never a high priority in places like these. Nor health and safety in general.

“How’s that gonorrhea going, horndog?” Bobby Boot nudges his literal brother-from-another-mother Bobby Book with his elbow. The lankier of the two clutches at his side, giving his smaller, more rotund sibling, a deathly stare.

Wait a minute… wasn’t Book supposed to be the talkative one? When was the last time I even saw these two?

Book spies me up ahead. I must be holding my face in a particular way, because his expression quickly turns from anger to something just short of abject despair. To further his dismay, as they draw near, Boot keeps going.

“Hey, ‘gonorrhea’ would be a dope-as-fuck name for a diarrhea medication,” Boot chuckles to himself, keeping his eyes firmly in front as they pass by me. Book sustains eye contact with me throughout, silently screaming ‘save me’. His head swivels on his neck until only Regan MacNeil could move it any further, and before I know it, it snaps back to the front.

A particularly loud crackle from the light above catches my attention, but when I’m satisfied that the light isn’t about to fall on my head, I glance back towards the direction that the Bobby Brothers walked in, and…

They’re gone.

What? Where’d they go?

AND WHERE THE FUCK IS KIERAN KING?

That I can’t answer. Not yet.

“Find him. Find me.”

But the Bobby Brothers…?

No…

Through the door?

Oddly enough, I guess that makes a strange sort of sense, given how they come and go seemingly at random.

Hmph…

I try to refocus. Casting my eyes to the corridor, it stretches like a tree trunk before me. Each room that comes off it, another branch. Some have long and storied histories. Amongst thick bushets of leaves, chicks chirp in protective nests. The tree supports new life. Other branches wilt. Hidden from the sun, they rot and die. The leaves fall first, but soon enough, everything else goes with it. And if the tree is not careful, it’s poison may spread. So the tree lets its limbs fall. It shuts the door.

Fuck trying to save things, right?

So many doors. And I… I can’t see what’s on the other side. But I can feel it.

Shut or open. It matters not.

A part of me wants to leave the doors alone. To not walk through them. That part of me tells me that I don’t want to see. That I don’t want to know. But it’s wrong. I need to do this.

Arbitrary in my choice, I reach for a handle and turn it. And with that step, I find myself leaving the building entirely.

One small step for man…

Feet hit hot butmen. Rows of manicured hedges line perfect little houses. While the bluebirds sing (for me), they flit from tall tree to tall tree. The sun, feeling a little randy, reaches down and gives me a good ol’ french kiss.

Wheels squeak ahead, as a small child peddles furiously on a red tricycle. I begin to follow but before I know it, I am the child.

I am the child.

Furiously I pedal. Faster and faster, empowered by the trike’s colour. My brain rattles inside a plain white helmet as I manically jerk to the side. The wheels wobble as they clip up the curb and over the sidewalk. I careen down the pavement, riding the world’s fastest Indian. With another sudden jerk I veer even further to the side, speeding up into a driveway. The wheels are still turning as I leap off, and the tricycle crashes into a small hedge. With two mighty leaps I bound up the four wooden steps to the front of the house, and I disappear through the plain wooden entrance door.

The thrill of the race fades away. Sol never even had a chance to say goodbye. And all I’m left with is the sound of the exposed light buzzing away.

Back in the corridor.

It’s a heck of a tree trunk.

I am a heck of a climber.

Up here, in these dizzying heights, I am not alone. The tree is rife with life in all its facets. I walk past other closed doors, but my vision of the beyond grows clearer. I see the lichen fastened to their branches. Immobile, but still breathing. A squirrel of a girl hurries out in front of me, and ducks away into another hole. And the birds. Oh, the birds! They keep fucking singing!

It’s all too much! I’ve already done this before! I’ve already lived this life! I escaped! I was free!

“Where’s a nurse?!” I shout, grabbing a hold of one of the rodents. They wriggle their way out of my clutches and duck into a hidey-hole of their own.

FUCK!

Quick, someone shoot me up! Someone give me The Love! I miss the high! I miss every care in the world being pumped out of my veins!

This isn’t right!

Right!

Left!

Right!

Left!

Left!

Right!

DO YOU GET THE FUCKING PICTURE???!!!

I don’t.

I breathe, trying to force my heart rate down. It drums of war inside my chest.

It all came on so quick. I felt like I was losing control.

“Concentrate,” I whisper to myself. The other bodies scurrying about don’t even pay attention. What’s another loon talking to himself in here?

I just need to find my centre.

“When I was just a little girl…”


...What was that?

A bird singing. For me.

“I asked my mother, what will I be?”


The song calls to me from another branch, its disarming melody luring me in.

Another door.

Of course.

I step through, paying no heed to any pesky doors and their handles.

“Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here’s what she said to me…”


“Oh…”

There is a shining light. It radiates from her as she glides across the wooden floorboards. Underneath my tattered feet they creak, but underneath hers the floors glow in rainbow colours. And the sounds… they add their voice to the music with a wondrous grace.

“Que séra, séra!
Whatever will be, will be!”


She clutches me to her chest as she twirls. Her eyes twinkle like stars, and I tremble before the Universe and all it represents.

Everything.

I… I… I remember.

With tender love she kisses my forehead and holds me up towards the ceiling and the Everything that lies beyond.

“The future’s not ours to see!
Que séra, séra.”


I saw this, didn’t I? Or a version of it. I think I understand now. Back then I fell to my knees. Back then I wept. But I don’t do that this time. I don’t kneel. With my back against the living room wall, I slide down until I’m sitting on the ground. And with my arms wrapped around my legs, all my face can do is smile.

Although I know that I could never touch her, I reach out with my hand. The hand of another falls softly onto her shoulder, and soft lips lean in, pecking her on the cheek. Coarse hands pluck me from her arms and I watch as a man swoops me up onto his shoulders.

“When I was just a child in school,
I asked my teacher, what should I try?”


Turning, slower than she had, he bobs up and down in a gentle rhythm. I watch as from atop his wiry shoulders, a younger me giggles with glee.

“Should I paint pictures? Should I sing songs?
This was her wise reply.”


In one swift movement, I am lifted off my father’s shoulders and he and my mother come together once more, wrapping me between the two of them. Until this moment, I never recalled that feeling that I see on my own face. Until this moment, I never thought that the me that sits could ever feel that at all. But I do. I remember the joy. I remember the love. It rushes upon me and I… I let that feeling take me away.

In unison they sing. And I join them.

“Que séra, séra!
Whatever will be, will be!”


Oh, how I could stay in this moment forever.

“The future’s not ours to see!
Que séra, s…”



BANG!





















BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

FUCKING CHOP!

CHOP!

CHOP!

CHOP!

FUCKING BANG!

FUCKING CHOP!

FUCKING BANG! CHOP! CHOP!



“No!” I lurch towards the scene, but it’s too late. My younger self has been taken and the bodies of my parents lie in pools of blood on that beautiful wooden floor. Their heads lie a couple of feet away.

OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!

I roll the heads over, trying to get one last look at Everything. Instead of my parents, the faces of Corey Smith and Dolly Waters stare back at me behind pallid, white eyes.

“What the fuck?!” I scramble backwards, and before I know it I’m back in the corridor adding more scuffs to that puke-green lino.

“No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!” I repeat. Like an animal I pounce towards the door once again, but the branch has died. There is nothing on the other side but the void.

FUCKING NOTHING!

Desperation kicks in. I bound from branch to branch in search of anything that could take me back. Anything that could stop it! If that’s not an option, I search for the people who fucking did this. Countless doors I search, and each failed attempt only leaves me more determined. Steel bends against my force and the very foundation upon which this home for the unwell is built quivers with every step I take!

But still… nothing.

“Where were you?” asks little Frankie Duke from a door I’m sure I had just checked. Tears well in his eyes as his arm raises, strained from the weight he carries. In his hand, the hair of his father intertwines around his fingers.

Thad’s head.

Blood drips from its severed neck.

I watch each drip as they fall, never touching the ground. The blood, it just vanishes.

Clenching my jaw I step out onto that withered branch. It feels unsteady this high up the tree. Briefly, I look down, to make sure my footing is secure, and when I look up again to state my usual response, Frankie Duke is gone.

In his place, the girl.

“Where were you?” she asks. Though she’s aged, I know it’s her. Unlike Frankie, however, there are no tears in her eyes. Her arm raises, barely bothered by the weight it carries. In her hand, the hair of her new father intertwines around her fingers.

My head.

Blood drips from its severed neck.

I know not where the drops land. All I see are haunted, unblinking eyes.

My own.

“Where were you?” I ask myself, barely older than the version of me cuddled by his family only moments ago. I know it’s me. I’d know those eyes of shifting blue anywhere. Both his arms raise, and the weight shifts from his hands onto his shoulders. In his hands, the hair of his parents intertwines around his fingers.

And they don’t transform.

Blood drips from their severed necks.

“I didn’t do that,” I offer, as if it means anything.

“You will,” the younger me growls. Before my very eyes, his face begins to contort. His eyes darken. His teeth sharpen. They gnash together in a frenzy that rains spittle into the air. Horns begin to grow from his temples and his back begins to bulge. Masses of fur-coated muscle tear their way through his grey, stained t-shirt.

The savage beast puts its head down and charges. I know how this is going to go, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

The beast moves forward.



Ever forward.




Through whatever is in its path.

That includes me. It barrels me through the door again and I smash into the wall of the corridor. I groan, rubbing my head at the site of impact. And from this filthy, disgusting floor, I pick myself up again.

It’s what I do.

I shake the singing birds loose from my head and look around for the next doorway. But there are none. No doors, no beast, no people.

The corridor has come to an end.

I’m at the top of the tree.

From a perch taller than any mountain, I look around; my head all the way up in the clouds. And from this height, everything seems so clear. There is no red door. No. That’s where I came from. The walls aren’t closing in either. They’ve opened, wider and wider, until the entire Universe is at my fingertips.

It’d be a shame for something to ruin it all.









---BLINK!---




There it is.

I’m back in the hospital, but beyond the corridor. I now find myself in a dark corner of a large room, populated by carbon-copy single beds coated in beige blankets that match the curtains. And in the middle… it’s her! The doctor who tormented me for years!

My Angel!

Fuck Kieran King! It’s her that I want! I can strike now!

I only get to take one step.

“Is this him?” she asks, greeting a shining couple of beauty and love. The father pushes a stroller along and inside a baby goo-goos and ga-gas as it rings upon a small cluster of bells wrapped around a plastic ring.

“Mother…? Father…?” They can’t hear me. But this can’t be! I saw them die! I saw it! I fucking saw it! I remembered, god damn it! DON’T YOU FUCKING TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!

“Yes, this is our sweet boy,” my father says, beaming down at me.

“I can already tell that he’ll be absolutely remarkable,” she replies through pursed lips that cover the ragged-ass teeth I know hide on the other side.

“He’ll be okay here, right?” The concern in my mother’s voice stabs my heart. Through the side of her eyes, she watches me as I play.

“Better than okay,” the nurse promises, placing a reassuring hand on my mother’s shoulder. “Come with me, and we’ll get everything finalised.”

She motions towards an opening (not a door) on the other side of the room, and guides my family towards it. As discreetly as I can, I follow them.



---BLINK!---




What the fuck? Again?

There is no hospital in sight. Instead, I find myself in a decaying alley way, tucked behind a mottled blue dumpster overflowing with garbage, flies, and what I’m relatively certain based on the stench is literal human shit.

{{Oh! There you are, Chris Page!}}

Everything is made worse by the rain beating down from on high. With a determined attack, it adds itself to a rushing flow of water that floods a thin, indented gutter hugging the nearby stone building as it runs down the edge of the alley behind the dumpster. I press tight against the building, trying to find any hint of shelter. There is none to be found.

From where I hide, what I’m sure is only a few minutes feels like almost an hour under the unrelenting downpour. Over the sound of the water pounding the pavement, the sound of squealing car brakes catches my attention. Braving the rain, I poke my head out past the dumpster and spy a dark car parked at the end of the alley, puffed steam emanating from its engine does its best to fight against the weather. With a clunk, the car opens and a portly woman emerges, drawing an umbrella over her head to protect herself. She turns back towards the vehicle, and I strain my ears to hear her.

“He’ll be a fantastic fit,” I hear her say to someone inside. She turns back towards the alley and begins to approach. A leering street light from above catches her face.

It’s her! Again! My Angel!

And she’s coming right towards me!

I duck into the shadows once again, and listen as her feet splat into puddles with each step. They stop, not far from me, on the other side of the dumpster, and I hear her speaking once again.

“You don’t look too good,” she says. But to whom? “I’m here to help. Will you come with me?”

I don’t hear the response, but after a brief shuffle, more than one set of footsteps plod their way back through the thin stream that covers the ground. Cautiously, I lean out from behind my hiding spot, and see two figures outside the car: the Angel Doc and…

Me!

Haggard and gaunt, I can barely support myself. My head lolls back on its neck and I would have watched myself fall were it not for the doctor grabbing at my addled frame.

Fuck this!

I exit the dark as the doctor guides the other me into the vehicle and climbs in after him. The door slams shut, but you know how I get with doors. I make a fucking beeline for it, grab it by its edges and I yank like hell.

“Get the fuck away from…”



---BLINK!---




“...me!” My voice echoes from the peak of the mountain, ricocheting across valleys that glisten with trickling streams that carve their way across the land. Luscious forests abound; trees swaying in the wind as they wave ‘hello’.

Fallen marble pillars, chipped and weathered by history, border the small clearing that I find myself in. And I’m dry, which is a relief, I guess. As with the decrepit laneway, the sound of a voice catches my attention. Unlike there, however, there’s nothing to disguise the source. It’s her. Again. I can tell.

And I’m going to fucking killer her.

There’s a small gap in between two of the pillars, and I squeeze myself into it, scraping myself on its jagged edges as I push myself through.

“Place him upon the altar,” the Angel Doctor directs while I will myself through the crack. I hear a child crying. Is that… the girl? At the mere thought, I fight harder. Two birds with one slit throat? Sounds good to me.

Emerging on the other side, as I tend to do, I find myself in the middle of a semicircle of robed figures. Hoods obscure the faces of all save three: My Angel, and my parents.

Between them, five altars of stone rise in the middle. Four have items upon them.

Map.

Dagger.

Rope.

Orb.

My parents walk towards the empty fifth. It’s not the girl that I heard, but another version of myself. A babe once more, I’m wrapped in a black blanket in their arms.

They place me upon the altar.

And I start fucking swinging.


Discord reigns.

The man is atop a mountain.

Bodies are strewn everywhere.


I hold the doctor’s throat in my bare left hand, and raise my gloved right.

And this, to end it all.


---”Blink.”---


It’s without the imagery, but equally as effective.

I was in a hospital, and thus am I again. Puffing on a cigar, the foreboding figure of Doctor Louis D’Ville - or at least his likeness - crosses his legs as he leans back in a tall leather chair. He dabs the end of the cigar into a ceramic ashtray on the edge of the large mahogany desk that separates us.

Myself? I’m lying on a long couch, looking up at the ceiling.

“Just blink,” Lou says. “Focus on your blinking. Count them, and bring yourself back to reality.”

I sit up, draping my feet over the edge and onto the thick carpet below. The glow of the fireplace ripples from Lou’s eyes.

Mine bring their own fire.

“Reality?” I spew. “That’s what you call this?”

“You’ve been suffering from delusions,” pseudo-Lou tells me, not budging from his chair. “But that is no excuse to lash out.”

“Fuck you.” Doing exactly what he warned me not to, I lash out. And in defiance, I rise. “This isn’t reality. None of this is. You’re a fucking figment, man. It’s your schtick. You want to be seen without being seen. Well like I said, fuck you. You can play your fucking game, but this? This is my story. And you have no power here.”

I can see the wheels turning behind that dead face as he thinks of all the wonderful ways in which he plans to harm me. He goes to open his mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to utter another word. I shove my hand down his throat, and take control.


---”Blink.”---



Lou is gone. Everything is gone. The mountain, the tree, the house, the hospital.

Life emergent.

Life destroyed.

Up ahead in the distance, Kieran King motions for me to come hither. He holds the girl.

So I continue on my journey.

~~~~~

The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.






3D: XX_Progress Notes_210918

Patient Progress Notes
Date: 09/18/21Therapist: Facility:
Patient: Age: ◻ Female ☑ Male
Session length: 60 min◻ No Session: _________________
Treatment Issue: Severe paranoia and antisocial behaviour. Threats to commit harm to others.
Symptoms observed during session:
☑ aggression (physical)
☑ aggression (verbal)
☑ agitation
☑ anger
◻ anhedonia
☑ anxiety/fear
◻ appetite disturbance
☑ danger to others
◻ danger to self
◻ decreased energy/fatigue
☑ delusions
◻ depressed
◻ distractibility
☑ emotional lability
◻ feelings of worthlessness
☑ hallucinations (auditory)
☑ hallucinations (visual)
◻ hopelessness/ helplessness
◻ impulsivity
☑ irritability
☑ negative statements
☑ noncompliance (medical care)
☑ restlessness
☑ sad/pained/ worried expression
☑ self deprecation
◻ sleep disturbance
☑ socially inappropriate
◻ social withdrawal
◻ suicidal ideation or plan
◻ thought disorder
◻ other:
◻ other:
Diagnoses: Undetermined
Intervention strategies implemented and session focus or theme: Naturalistic, patient-led approach. Indirect confrontation regarding accuracy of delusions.
Patient Response:◻ Marked improvement
◻ Some improvement
◻ Same functioning
☑ Symptoms worsening
Evidence of patient response: Delusions progressed to detailed auditory and visual hallucinations. Still, patient able to distinguish reality from fiction with respect to particular hostile stimulus.
Future treatment/Follow-up: Discrimination between reality and fiction may indicate breakthrough is imminent. Continue course of action.
Signature of therapist/title:






3E: Honestly

“Silly me, out here talking about the past. Even after saying that your own solution isn’t there. What a coherent narrative I spin. Totally not worthless, unsolicited, drawn-out, overplayed nonsense.

Honestly (here we go again), I’m just following your lead, my man.

If you want to dial back the wheels of time, I’ll do what little I can on that front too. That means that as long as you hang back there in the way-back-when, I’mma swing that little pecker of mine in that very direction and take off whatever heads may fall.

You can try to whiteout whatever you want, Lou, but you made a lot of promises that you just didn’t keep. I conquered the mountain. I beat the side boss on the first try. And yeah, I had my control too, in spite of how it all may seem. What I have said has come to pass, no? Today, you may be out here acknowledging what I am and what I do, acting like you just made a simple mistake the first time, but are we… am I supposed to just accept your apology on faith? Yes I appreciate it, and yes you’re not making excuses, but absolutely none of that changes the fact that you were very, very wrong.

What makes this time any different? You tell me that the old Lou is back and that it’s some sort of favour to me. That I’m going to get what I want. We’ve already addressed my wants and needs, baby, but in the grand scheme of things, if I even wanted that… it’s just another promise, isn’t it? Another word spoken from lips that aim to deceive. Oh yeah, I said it.

Honesty.

Don’t act like you weren’t whispering into Thad’s ear before War Games, telling him all the evils that I was supposedly telling Corey. Don’t act like you didn’t tell him I was trying to tear them apart.

That was you.

And that was deceit.

But that’s not you anymore! You’re the old Lou! Totally reliable! Totally truthful! Totally… honest.

Honestly, do you really expect me to just gloss over how much you bitched and moaned about Corey’s role in your downfall? Am I supposed to ignore Corey standing in the way between me dragging your sorry carcass towards an open flame burning on a stove? Are we all supposed to pretend that other referees might not push a fighter if that fighter pushes them?

One push.

That’s all it took.





No excuses though, isn’t that what you said? Bitch, you already fucking gave them.

I told you that I couldn’t promise to not take my shots when I see them. I told you that that’s just not my style. You can construct whatever rules you want for yourself, but that doesn’t mean that I give a fuck about them. As far as I’m concerned, there’s just me, and my direction.

Fill in the fucking blank, Lou.

You think you can rise to the occasion? Well fucking bring it on. Expectations are high in this one. Everyone knows my minimum and it’s a lot higher than most maximums. Everyone knows that when I step YOU step aside. Everyone knows that when I say move, you move. Or don’t. I can handle either scenario and that is honesty.

Story of our fucking life, eh?

Looks like the shoe is on the other foot.

Truth; facts; whether you believe them or not. I’m doing what I said I’d do. You can question my control or you can simply dip your head in acknowledgement and keep doing what you do did. That’s the pleasure of being where I’m at in this picture. No matter the situation. No matter the time. No matter the place. People know if they do not bring their absolute best they stand no chance.

Your words. Very, fucking, literally.

I disagree though. Most people don’t actually know that. Most people think that they’re special.

More than most are wrong.

I’m not.

A door was opened that most have not seen before. Take whatever solace you want from your role in that, Lou. Sitting over there on your stanky chair, you weren't the grand poobah at the end then, and you aren’t now. A challenge? Sure. A fight? No doubt. A bloodbath? Probably.

But not the end.

I’m the end.

Of you.

Not your life, but your myth. Not your legacy, but your aura. You’ve done what you’ve done, and nobody will ever take that from you. But me?

I’m the reason why you’re never going to be able to do it again.”

Do you have a light?

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